


Beyond Elvenhome

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Outstanding AU/reinterpretation, Characters - Friendship, Characters - Well-handled emotions, Fourth Age, Language. Strong, Plot - Bittersweet, Romance, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Experimental, Writing - Well-handled introspection, once. Mild Slash implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2004-09-06
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3853335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ch:1 - Boromir tells of his death and what happened after.</p><p>Ch:2 - Of Aragorn's death; and his view of a longed for meeting.</p><p>Movie!Boromir in an AU speculation of what may come after passing into the West.</p><p>Warning: Language. Strong, once.  Mild Slash implied</p><p>A sequel to The Sky Wept Diamonds</p><p>This is the second and third strands of the braid, partially inspired by the songs of the late Dave Carter, the title of which I've taken for the third strand.  <br/>And thank you to fileg who brought them to my attention in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boromir's Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

There is this one truth I can tell you about being dead – it is fucking boring!

Forgive me. The use of soldier’s language is not appropriate here, but nonetheless… when one is used to activity, inaction sits heavily.

You may wonder where I am; I too was confused to find myself dead - then not dead, at least, I do not seem dead to me.

I knew it would happen, we all die. As I struggled to give him my oath, I realised it was to come quickly. I knew… I knew, but the inevitable always happens to someone else. When I had seen the Little Ones attacked, I ran to them without thinking; a soldier simply reacts, danger is something put aside in the face of duty. If I could not save Frodo, then I must fulfil my role elsewhere. One should not allow dread of defeat to cloud the mind, though often the inevitable thought strays forward - ‘I am going to die.’ You push it from you – but not to admit you felt it is cowardice indeed.

When the first black arrow struck I was tethered to a pain that dug deep into my body – more than sword-cuts, more than dagger or blade was that wound – because… because in that moment I saw my Mother.  
How is that possible you ask?  
I am not a philosopher, I cannot tell.  
As if in a mirror I saw my mother as she struggled to birth me. She cried piercingly of black wings, black feathers. I felt her anguish twisting in my guts as the barb gouged into my chest. Her pain then was more than mine.

I have been told the story of my birth, privately, by those who looked at me with sympathy in their eyes; sorry for a fate I did not find to be so appalling. They told me I would glitter brightly, but briefly, as the diamonds the sky wept to greet me. Such glory always has a price, and it was one I felt willing to pay, at least I did then. The Enchantress in the Wood, she knew; she read my heart, at least some of it. I would be even more afeared of her if she had seen all – but then, mayhap she did see it, my desire, my deepest wish that I will tell to no one. No matter – that is between her and me - for the moment.

I digress – it’s all this time for thought – the mind wanders… The second arrow claimed my body and hope drifted from me; where could help come from at this time? I had sounded the Horn to no avail. They took the Little Ones; I had failed. That was an added torment worse than the agony in my chest, I had failed them too. I saw my brother before me, my brave Faramir. Always the scholar, he would be able to explain this. He was always at his books; Father never could see that good commanders can learn their craft as well as be born to it. I was ever eager to invoke the storm of war to sweep the foe before me, be they the peevish chaffs of childhood or the armies of the Dark Lord himself. – I must act on my first thought. My brother, that gentle soldier of my soul – he learnt to command by weighing the course of his actions; to demand was foreign to him. We always knew each other’s hearts. As the black barb raked through me, I felt him reach to touch me, soft as a wingprint on the air. We were ever two halves, Mother divided herself between us; I took her fire and he her grace. Poor lady, she gave us all there was, keeping nothing for herself. For some women, sacrifice is all they aspire to. I would not have it so, but I am not their judge.

I do not know if I dreamt my brother or if he dreamt me, but I felt him, his grace. A rush of warmth surged through me and for a moment – I was happy and content. Is that not strange? I felt a strength flow, and such a moment of joy I never thought to gain in this life. Perhaps it was a last glimpse of earthly ecstasy, or was it a sample of happiness to come? Time slows to a crawl when you are dying, yet even that is never slow enough. I looked him in the eye and my brother smiled at me, before he felt my terror. I am sure it was his love that warmed me. But my pain chilled him and the link was broken. That made me angry, sufficient to make my final blows land true. I would I could cleave every bastard orc from helm to crotch!

Again, - your pardon.

The third arrow centred me to agony; there was nothing beyond this twisting pillar of dust and blood that was my body as I sank to the floor. I saw him then; I saw him run at that foul carrion-eater, saw him spring up in battle-lust. My arms were leaden and torture burnt through my guts like dragon-fire. I could do nothing. A part of me kept thinking – ‘breathe, just breathe’, stay for him and he will come. Every gasp blistered my lungs; I could feel myself drowning in blood and bile as I clung to that single thought, ‘stay here, stay here.’

He came to clasp my hand. I felt his warmth against me. I who had always blazed hot was now cold, so cold. He placed my sword in my hand without I asked, he knew me, and I him. I kept my voice; my legs were gone, my body fading, but his face was my anchor until I had named him my Captain – until I named him my King.

I watched them lay me into the elven boat. Is that not another strange thing? I saw them haul my carcase with reverence down to the river. They laid me out for a last journey. My King was near silent; the Elf sang a low song, ancient as the trees and I swear they joined his lament. I know not how, but I heard them. They launched me into the Anduin. The Dwarf shed tears. I had time to marvel at that before the river cast me over the Falls. The roar, the rush, a thunder drum of noise! I was amongst it, in it, on it. Then, I was watching the sky. Day became night and the stars lulled me; not to sleep, I was dead, the dead do not sleep. I found myself annoyed, not only was I dead, but they wanted me to sleep as well! The Sun rose red and I floated on, kissed by the wind, swathed in the water. Day and night danced above me; I soon tired of watching them but I could not turn away, there was naught else to do.

Sometime, after a pale dawn, I felt my brother’s presence. With great effort I struggled to him and kissed him. I do not know if he felt me. I felt his pain when he saw me, and strange to say, I saw me. It was a shock. It is not the sort of mirror you look into in this life. My eyes were closed, the boat was filled with water and light, but I didn’t drown. How could I? I was dead. My brother would have held me, his heart reached for my spirit, but his are not the hands can catch it. Afterwards the Anduin bore me away. Through trees and plains, ever the river widened, until the tang of salt filled the air and the boat rocked. I was reminded of a cradle. A pang of sadness ran through me that I would never see a cradle rock for a son of mine. You have time to think when you are dead. I considered my father, considered myself; what sort of father would I have made? I soon stopped; there can be no point in idle speculation, what’s done is done. I am dead. There will be no children – and yet… and yet I might have wished… no matter.

Let me conclude. Bright Sun and dreaming Ithil chased above me until I lost count. I could not move; I could see naught but sky above me. I was not frightened, or even curious, I simply – was.

When the silver mist gathered about me, I thought, ‘at last it has come, I fade; now what is going to become of me?’ And it seemed that for the first-time I closed my eyes. When I opened them, the boat was still. I sat up; the first movement I had been able to make. I looked around me; I was cast up on a white beach. I breathed the air; it was fresh and so sweet. Then I realised; I had taken a breath without that dreadful agony in my chest. I touched the boat; I touched it! It came to me I should be frightened, but I could not muster fear. Peace – was the best I could do. Do you not realise how long it was since I felt truly at peace?

So here I am. I wait. I chose not to live amongst them, the Elves. I am not entirely at home in their Hall, although there are those who will bid me welcome there. Many have fought in great battles against such odds that I am overwhelmed. Yet they and I can yarn away the time with pleasure in soldier’s tales; how much time ‘tis difficult to say – an hour, a day, a year? It means nothing to them, or to me. They said I might wait and I do; until the time comes for me to journey onwards. They have made me a house by the shore, near where my boat still lies on the beach. I walk the strand and watch for white sails and grey ships, under the endless skies. They come less frequently now; they bring me news, and always the look of shock on their faces amuses me; until that look turns to sorrow, or maybe pity; that’s another reason I do not to stay overlong in the Hall.

I tell time’s passage by the star-candles that marked my birth. I suppose they still ride the night a year apart. Time is different here, beyond fast or slow, simply different. So I wait, I don’t need to hope; I have certainty of what I wait for. But I tell you – it can be f… - it can be very boring when you’re dead.


	2. Gentle Soldier of My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch:1 - Boromir tells of his death and what happened after.

Boromir  
In stillness, under the stars his voice came to me with the quietness I remember; from our first meeting in Rivendell, from under the great trees in the Golden Wood, from the last words I truly heard him say to me after I fell. I saw the tower, a spike of pearl in the morning, and I heard him speak clearly:

“With all that was between us how can we now be estranged? I would not lose you. That we became as strangers to ourselves took even me by surprise. I - I would never have considered our affection - no, I will not deny it - our love to have been possible – and… my one wish is to wake with you by my side. I have travelled many paths through my life, paths of wonder, paths of fear, there is still one road left for me to travel and that I now do willingly. In all this world there is nothing that will keep me from you. When this place becomes but shadows I will search for you. Wait for me. I _will_ come. Look for me in the East, in the red house of morning, I will come to you.”

His eyes held all that promise to me and more. The dream faded like the smoke of war to become ashes in my mouth, and still, alone, I walk this distant shore. I watch the breakers crash and roll, and wait here for the gentle soldier of my soul.

 

************

Aragorn  
I have a kingdom, I have a noble wife, a fine son and lovely daughters, and the satisfaction of redeeming my line and undoing to some degree the folly and weakness of my ancestors – but… Why is there always a ‘but’ in this life? If the Valar brought me before them and said; ‘what of this would you exchange to have him back?’ I would have to think long and hard, for in all conscience how ever much I long to have him at my side, there is much that I cannot see undone. It would be a disservice to his honour and to mine. The Elves taught me patience – it is something immortals have in plenty, the realisation that the brief candles of our mortal lives must run their course in their own time. I do not hurry through my span here, that would be to dismiss the lives and deaths of all those who dedicated themselves to put me here – in this lonely place. A king can never be other than isolated; my most loyal councillors are there to help, but only one head can wear the crown. Knowing the tenure is finite is that which allows me to continue – patience you see, patience, that my time will come – and we will be reunited. That in itself is almost a fear more than I can bear; what if you’re not there? What if time has altered us both, too much to continue, nay, to start what might have been? It is folly to dwell on this. I cast my fea in dreams and sometimes catch a glimpse of you – whether it be real or wishful imagining, I can not tell. I only hope.

**********

The Loyal Servant  
My lord the King commanded his place be prepared for him; he feels his time is soon to come. To know the time of your own death must be chilling but he seems to fear it not. I would almost swear he welcomes those cold arms to close around him. A grisly thought, but true; he smiles a sad half-smile as he watches the drapes prepared for his bier. My Lady, the Queen weeps then and will not be consoled, who can blame her? They say that with his passing there will be none left for her. She has a son and daughters, but without him… her hold on this life will fade as pale as winter sunshine.

There have long been instructions left for a coronet of twigs and leaves from the White Tree to be placed at his head after the Winged Crown is taken for his son. A curious notion, but I suppose there’s some elvish significance – he would be crowned with the symbol of the realm; that is enough for me. My Lord Faramir had insisted that feathers were added to the crown, the King smiled and did not gainsay him. A glance passed between them that I could not read but it spoke of secret understandings. It was not my place to conjecture, but I saw My Lady bite her lip. Though it seemed to me fitting that one crown should give mimesis to the other – though the feathers chosen were black not white; that I do find strange. Another instruction we have is for the vambraces of the Steward’s late brother to be buckled in place. The King wears them often when alone, a favoured reminder of times past; they say before he came to the throne his lot was a more carefree one. I have watched him touch the leather as tenderly as it were a lover’s skin – they must evoke strong memories for him, though I’ve not heard him speak of soldier’s tales, well maybe to Lord Faramir, or maybe the Queen. No, perhaps not her, he slips them out of sight when she visits his rooms.

The King has passed this day. The women weep. My Lady, the Queen sits as if carved from marble; pale, deathly still as our fair Lord. I buckled each vambrace to his arms; they fitted easily as a second skin so smooth they are to the touch. At that my Lady did shed tears, and then she turned away. I have sat the Vigil with my Lord this night; the spring air is still warm, even at midnight. And as I watched it seemed the sky wept diamonds, falling stars that flashed brightly then were gone. They say star-candles greet the birth of great ones, surely reverence and glory can be expressed for the passing of those beloved as well?

**********

Aragorn  
It seemed to me that I lay down and fell into the sweetest sleep. A burden was lifted from my brow and I felt my freedom and release. I could smell the leaves of Imladris and my childhood, soft and green after being bruised by rain. I took a long breath and breathed my old life away. I thought I might be walking in Imladris, but the trees were too tall, too old. It came to me it might be Lorien, but it was Spring, and Spring there had passed many Ages before. I knew I had to continue walking even if I did not know the path, and indeed there was none. The ground was virgin, neither sign nor mark upon it that showed passing feet. There were shadows there, but I was not afraid, only somehow knowing that what I most desired could be found if I continued through the trees. Then, of a sudden, I could smell the sea, is that not strange?  
How, I don’t quite remember, but I found myself in a small grey boat, with the stars dancing swift patterns above my head. Then I slipped again into a sweet sleep.

**********

Boromir  
The gulls called me to the shore. The last of the night’s stars darted as bright diamonds at the dawn as I watched the water pearl, and the morning clouds turn from night to rose. On the horizon I thought I saw… did I dare believe? So far, so far – I could not watch its progress, could not bear for it not to be… But still - I put on the quilted shirt and surcoat of my rank. I dressed again so he would recognise me, not daring to hope, but unable to stop believing. I fetched my horse, and saddled another, walking them slowly back to the shore. If it was, I would ride with him through fields of shining gold as we never were able to before. I must show him … what? Another kingdom? And how long would we be allowed to linger before we passed? I didn’t know, but I shivered like a nervous colt. I took a brush and with unsure fingers curried the pony’s mane. I tried to put clumsy braids therein, not really worth the name, for I could not bear to watch the water. So absorbed was I in that imposed task, I started at the touch of the hand on my shoulder. I could not turn my head, but froze – if it were not, ‘twould break my heart. The grip tightened and even trembled. Then he murmured my name. I could not help myself – I threw my arms about his neck and hugged him.

**********

Aragorn  
As I climbed from the boat I could see him, his back to me, wearing the warrior’s garb we’d sent him off in. He attended the mane of a fine horse so studiously I was almost loathe to disturb him. Then I saw the tension in his back, the ache in his shoulders. He knew I was here. I reached out to ease that pain, and as I spoke his arms were about me. How long have I waited, hoped but never dared to dream of this moment. I will not be ashamed to say I wept.  
“I waited,” he whispered softly, “Gentle soldier of my soul.” And a dark feather drifted down to land on his sleeve. I could do naught but smile. I had woken with him at my side.


	3. Lyrics to 'Gentle Soldier of My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch:1 - Boromir tells of his death and what happened after.

Gentle Soldier Of My Soul  
© 1999 Dave Carter / Dave Carter Music (BMI)

hey-yah  
my love has gone all upon the crimson trail  
his drum at dawn beating brimstone through the veil  
clear light through smoke and ash  
and balmy seas, where breakers crash and roll  
gentle soldier of my soul

hey-yah  
he lays me down in his garden growin bed  
he weaves a crown, twigs and feathers for my head  
he sings the fields awake  
and folds me in the love that makes me whole  
gentle soldier of my soul

hey-yah  
when i have passed through the forest of my trails  
and stand at last where the shadows run for miles  
we'll ride on ponies fine  
with painted shields through fields of shining gold  
gentle soldier of my soul


End file.
